


Brightness, Death, and Transparency

by apollojolras



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Self-Harm, Twins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 04:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollojolras/pseuds/apollojolras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first, it was a game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

There is no way to understand the feeling or awareness of sharing one's soul with someone else, unless you already do. You might, however, hope to come close to describing it. I have never been entirely alone in this world. I spent years fighting, memorizing, competing against, and imitating my brother. I learned to answer to his name as well as my own. I am eternally angry when strangers squeeze us into a box together, and assume we are the same people. I can...see my brother, feel him, when he is not here. We hurt the same, we bleed the same, we think the same. We are connected infinitely, impossible to break. But be assured that my brother and I _are not the same_. 

* * *

 When two young children are left alone in a very large house, they more often than not get themselves into trouble. Especially a set of twins.

Their father was dead. And their mother might as well be. The only time the boys ever saw her was during dinner, when they ignored the way she never touched her plate, and nearly drowned herself with bottles of sherry. There was a closet full of those empty bottles, maybe a hundred shiny blue-green glass sparkling under the light, that they found one day. Jason decided to climb on the shelves to reach for one at the top, and they both suffered tiny shards of glass in their hands and arms after that incident.

She never bothered to speak to them, to reach out to them, or to look at them. It made James sad, but Jason said it was because Father had shot himself and they both wore his face, so she couldn't stand to look at her children.

 

"Does death scare her so much?" he wondered.

Jason didn't know.

They resented her. It wasn't their fault that they looked at her with her dead husband's eyes. She didn't touch them. She never spoke. She didn't even bother to try to tell them apart. So they were raised byan army of hired help, and she continued to build a glass wall to separate herself from them.

The first few times it was a game, just to scare their mother. Jason said it would be a new game, a fun game, to pretend to be dead. A challenge. They tied themselves up with rope and stole the kitchen's sharpest knives and set sheets on fire and stained each other with red ink, pretending it was blood. They put nails in each other's tea and burned their fingers when they found a box of matches. They played tag on the roof and floated unmoving in the pool so she would see. They spilled rat poison on the floor and broke the lock that hid their father's pistol, playing with it where their mother could see them if she bothered to turn her head. 

But there weren't any bullets. There wasn't any blood. They always were careful. It was a game. A challenge. 

* * *

Once James felt sick to his stomach and thought he was going to throw up. He stumbled upon his brother lying on the floor in the bathroom. He thought Jason was asleep, but he was very, very still. He felt cold to the touch, and James began to shiver. He felt wrong, different, lonely. He thought it was onother game then. Jazz always loved to come up with new morbid things to play in their game. They were always his idea. His game, his fun, his challenge.

"Jason?"

Jim picked up the plastic pill bottle. He was having difficulty breathing, he didn't know why, and clutched one of Jason's limp hands in his. 

 

_What's wrong with you?_

The bottle belonged to their mother, filled with little white pills that they weren't allowed to touch. They had never used them in their game, because the twins could never find where the staff had hidden them.  _Jazz found them, I guess._ He squeezed his brothers hand tighter.

"Jason?" he asked again, saking his brother's shoulder. He was met with silence.

He didn't even know what the pills were for.

* * *

 

When they found the bottle the first time, Jason told him that Mother needed them because Father as dead, because she wanted to be dead too. 

  
_So they make her feel happy again?_  

_I don't think Mother knows what happy is, Jimmy._

_Do we make her need those pills, Jazz?_

Jason didn't know the answer to that. 

* * *

The plastic pill bottle was empty. James shoved at his brother harder, trying to get him to wake up. The twins always woke up after they played their game. After they had made one of the nurses scream or curse at them or made their mother cry when she accidentally glanced at her children, bleeding or broken or lying too still to be breathing. Jason always woke up, sticking his tongue out and grinning like an idiot at his brother. They giggled, running and hiding from their caretakers to think of new ways to kill themselves.

Jason wasn't moving. He hadn't since James had found him. James looked at him brother's face, relaxed in sleep. He looked almost blue in te light streaming in from the window. Jim still felt like he needed to throw up, like he had swallowed too much candy, but he couldn't make himself. His throat was locked closed as he dry heaved onto the tile.

Jason wasn't goignt to wake up this time.

It was then that James began screaming.


	2. I Am Not Like You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James wasn't supposed to be sick like him.

The manor was always quiet. As the twins grew older, they lost interest in plaing loud games and wreaking havoc on the hired staff. They weren't quite ordinary teenagers, and no one dared to speak out about the Mistress' alcohol abuse or the mental illness of the young Masters.  No one spoke of the blood-stained clothing or the sound of or the sounds of cryingduring the night. The manor was quiet.

Jason could feel his arms itching. It burned, like cold, and he gritted his teeth as his fingernails scraped into the scars on his wrist. He was trying to stop. He was trying to get better, to make Jimmy happy, to hide it from Mother. He slipped his fingers into his mouth to taste his blood, and closed his eyes.  _It's worse today. I feel like I have a fucking razor in my hand right now._  

He hit his head against the wall, again, again, harder. He bit into his lip until it hurt, until he could feel tears on his face and blood filling his mouth. He felt like a ghost, cold, floating around, untangible like he couldn't draw breath anymore.

* * *

_I am not sick today. I won't do it today. Because Jimmy doesn't want me to._

"James...God." he whispered.

_I have to find my brother._

James could always talk him down, calm his mind, and take away his razor. He could clear the fog in Jason's mind. He could make it better.

He found Jim in the bathroom, calling out his name and stumbling over the carpet. He latched onto the doorway for support, and froze in shock when he looked up. James was facing away, standing hunched over the sink, wiping  at his eyes with a sleeve painted red. Jason stared into the mirror, at the two identical faces staring back. The expression on JI\im's face was full of pain, and he did notlook at his brother. full of tears, full of hate. Jason hated that expression, because he knew how often it sat upon his own face. He couldn't quite remember how to breathe and his head began to hurt. His wrists burned.

A loud clatter broke the silence that was stretched between them, and the brothers flinched at the noise. Jason's face was blank as he watched the sharp piece of metal settle in the bottom of the porcelain sink. Jim's hand stayed frozen, still prepared to cut deep into his right arm. The bowl of the sink shone bright with splashes of his brother's life, harsh, abrupt, bitter. Jason slowly recoiled away from his brother, afraid and seething with self-hatred.

* * *

_Jimmy is the strong one. He talks me down and takes my razors and clears the fog and makes it better._

_He helps me when I want to hurt myself like this._

_He is not supposed to be sick like me._

"What the  _fuck_  do you think you're doing?" he asked, voice even as he stared hard at nothing.

James didn't answer him, but he started to sob, clutching at his head and squeezing his eyes shut. He slowly lowered himself to the floor. Jason became angry.

_Why is this happening? I'm the broken one! You are NOT sick, Jimmy!_

He wlaked further into the room when Jim started whispering, rocking back and forth.

"What are you doing Jimmy? Are you- are you praying?!" he scoffed.

"God isn't going to help you now, James! Do you hear me? God hates people like us!"

He started to scream. James was silent.

"YOU ARE **NOT SICK** , JAMES. I  _NEVER_ WANTED THIS FOR YOU, **DO YOU HEAR ME?!** "

His brother didn't answer him. He knelt down in front of James, both crying now, both hurting now, both sorry now.

 "Do you know what happens when you kill yourself, Jimmy?"

"What happens?" he whispered, his voice echoing like the room was empty.

Jason didn't know the answer. 

"They don't let you go to heaven." He answered. "People who kill themselves go straight to hell, even though they put stone angels over your grave."

James looked up at his brother, the saddest Jason had ever seen him. He touched Jason's cheek, who suddenly felt warm and alive. Blood dripped from his brother's hand. James cradled his brother's face in his hands, leaning in to press a chaste kiss against his brother's mouth, lips cold and soft.

* * *

 "I love you." he whispered.

Jason felt like half his soul had been ripped away from him.

"I love you too, Jimmy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An explanation for Jason in this chapter will be at the end of the next chapter sorry I don't want to spoil it.


End file.
